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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28110942">Reverberation.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/To_Matt_Oh/pseuds/To_Matt_Oh'>To_Matt_Oh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Autistic Otabek, Band Fic, Car Accidents, Character Death, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Given AU, Grief/Mourning, Guitar lessons, Guitars, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Nightmares, Pining, Read Author's Note, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:41:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28110942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/To_Matt_Oh/pseuds/To_Matt_Oh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>[The resonance of a beating heart, the echo of a loss.]</p><p> </p><p>Yuri had recently found a nice spot to nap at lunch time. No one ever went there and he could curl up in the sunlight like a cat. It was so nice he often didn't even hear the bell ring and ended up sleeping through half of 5th period.</p><p>He walked over to the stairs and stopped in his tracks. His nice sunny spot was...</p><p>Taken.<br/> </p><p>Or: The Given AU nobody asked for.<br/>Written for the Superfan's server "OtaYuri Advent."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christophe Giacometti &amp; Yuri Plisetsky, Mila Babicheva &amp; Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin &amp; Ji Guang-Hong, Otabek Altin/Leo de la Iglesia (past), Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Victor Nikiforov &amp; Yuri Plisetsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Otayuriadvent2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Overture.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Notes on this AU:<br/>&gt; Yuri is Uenoyama, Otabek is Mafuyu, Leo is Yuki (sobs), Viktor is Haruki and Chris is Akihiko.<br/>&gt; Yuri and Mila are siblings. (Mila is Yayoi)<br/>&gt; Haruki and Akihiko's plot will not be touched with a ten foot pole.</p><p>Additional notes (and spoilers) on ending note.<br/>A million thank yous to Surka, as always, for betaing and untangling this mess. I love youuu.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Otabek looked around. He had been having the same nightmare since the accident happened. He knew it by heart, and yet he always followed the same steps. Like a choreography he had no control over. Like his body wasn't his, despite what his brain told him. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to, he desperately wanted to refuse to play along his brain’s twisted games. To fight back. To run away the opposite direction and into a different dream; one that wouldn’t leave him exhausted and secluded in his own mind in the morning...</p><p> </p><p>But he couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, his body moved forwards in the darkness, towards the car that waited for him amid the shadows.</p><p> </p><p>He held tight onto the guitar that rested heavy in his arms, pulling it close to his chest in anticipation of what he knew would be waiting for him inside the broken windows and smashed windshield.</p><p> </p><p>He clutched onto the strings tight. Tighter. Tried to close his eyes to no avail: his eyelids were see-through. Tried to turn his head away, until--</p><p> </p><p><em>Twang</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Snap.</p><p> </p><p>His attention shifted from the dreaded driver's seat to the broken string, a heavy feeling setting in the pit of his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>〜❆〜</p><p>[Plisetsky, Yuri. Age 17.]</p><p> </p><p>“Yuri, do you wanna go shoot some hoops?” Emil asked, already holding a ball and wearing a grin on his face.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri gave him a tired look, then yawned. “No, I'm taking a nap.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” Emil slouched a little. “So you're skipping 5th period?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, take notes for me, will you?” He asked, already walking away before his classmate had a chance to answer.</p><p> </p><p>He waded through the mass of students out of the main building and into the courtyard, slipping past the gym and declining the offers to join the matches that were already going on.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri had recently found a nice spot to nap at lunch time. No one ever went there and he could curl up in the sunlight like a cat. It was so nice he often didn't even hear the bell ring and ended up sleeping through half of 5th period.</p><p> </p><p>He walked over to the stairs and stopped in his tracks. His nice sunny spot was...</p><p> </p><p>Taken.</p><p> </p><p>There was a kid already laying down on the break of the steps with an unreadable expression. His brow was heavy on top of his closed eyes, not quite frowning, but clearly showing that whatever dream he was having wasn't a pleasant one. The sour expression on his handsome features left Yuri wondering if he should wake him up.</p><p> </p><p>But the weirdest thing was that he was holding a guitar as if it were a stuffed animal.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri stared, unsure of what to do. Then the kid opened his eyes and stared back. Yuri recognized him from a different class, but his name escaped him.</p><p> </p><p>The guy scooted to the side and nodded at Yuri, still holding his guitar like a shield. Yuri took it as an invitation, so he sat down next to the wall.</p><p> </p><p>“If you want me to sit here, why don't you just say so like a normal person? You're kinda creeping me out.” Yuri said, trying to fill the weird silence stretching between them. “Whatever, I'm too tired to care.”</p><p> </p><p>The kid said nothing, instead turning to look at Yuri from behind the neck of his guitar. Yuri pressed his lips into a thin line before clicking his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>“Those strings are way too old, I'm sure that's why one snapped.” He said, ignoring the way the boy's eyes widened at his words. “Why get a Gibson if you can't even do basic maintenance?” Yuri shook his head. “At least you didn't use ducktape to fix it. You should change them, it's such a waste to have that nice guitar be unplayable for so long, I'm almost offended on its behalf.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can fix it?” The guy asked, startling Yuri. He wasn't expecting him to actually speak, let alone lean so close to him. “Can you fix it?” The guy asked again, thoughtfully stroking the broken string. His voice was flat, monotone, and quiet enough that if he weren’t so close, Yuri would’ve thought he was just mumbling. There was something about his voice that left Yuri wanting to hear more, though; to know what else he had to say.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri leaned against the wall as the guy's shining eyes pinned him in place.</p><p> </p><p>“Duh!” Yuri said, offended the guy questioned his abilities to perform such a basic thing. Yuri, who had played guitar since his last year of elementary and had been in a band since middle school: unable to change a string? Ridiculous. “Also, you're too close.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really? Can you fix it now?”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri frowned, puzzled by the guy's sudden change in energy. His voice was so monotone it almost clashed with him being so pushy.</p><p> </p><p>“Right now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Yuri stuttered, trying in vain to become one with the wall. “Today's kind of...”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri turned to look at the boy, who had suddenly gone quiet again. He was slumped forward, and looked like Yuri had just told him his dog had been run over by a car. He watched as the guy slumped more and more, hugging his guitar like it was his only source of comfort in those trying times, until his chin was hooked on the body of the instrument.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey... Don't look like the guitar's got a terminal illness, it's just a string...”</p><p> </p><p>The guy didn't even look at him, and Yuri clenched his jaw, annoyed that his lunchtime nap had turned into this.</p><p> </p><p>He stood up with a groan. “Fine!”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri ran to his classroom, rummaging through the pockets of his own guitar case for his materials to fix the strings of the silent kid's guitar, then he ran back to the stairs behind the gym.</p><p> </p><p>He snatched the guitar from the guy and placed it on his lap. “Just give me back my nap time!” He said as he cut the strings. “And stop looking like someone will die because of a broken string! Show me some appreciation! These things are expensive, so clap or something!”</p><p> </p><p>He didn't expect the guy to actually start clapping on command, but he did, which only served to irk Yuri even more.</p><p> </p><p>“Not yet! At least wait until I change all of them!” He huffed, starting to thread the strings and pull the pegs until they were taut. “Just look happier, I don't know. And pay me for the strings.”</p><p> </p><p>When he finished threading the strings, Yuri shifted the pegs a little, realizing he hadn't brought his tuner around, but completely unwilling to run back for it. He had already done more than enough and this kid should be able to easily tune it himself. That was the most basic thing to do.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri realized that he had never even held a guitar this expensive; his own guitar had been handed down from his grandpa.</p><p> </p><p>He plucked at the strings, adjusting them one by one until he was sure they were close enough to pass as properly tuned, then he strummed them. It was a simple chord, basic, no great mystery to it at all, but even with that, the kid shot upright, placing his hands firmly on Yuri's shoulders and leaning in.</p><p> </p><p>“Teach me.” He said, loud enough to startle Yuri.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri stared at him, still not used to the continuous stream of surprises from this guy and his dumb guitar.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh?” Was all he managed to vocalize.</p><p> </p><p>“Teach me how to play like you did!”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri's brows furrowed. Like he <em> just </em> did? What bullshit! Anyone could do a C chord, he could even look it up online if he wanted to; there was no real need to know how to play in order to do a C chord. Which meant that the guy truly didn't know shit about guitars, which made it even more confusing as to why he'd own a guitar worth more than 20 thousand motherfucking dollars.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri looked down at the guitar. A Gibson ES-335. This guy had to be either rich, or very lucky to be handed down such a jackpot. And he was fairly sure that this guy didn't know what a semi hollow body was. He probably didn't even know he owned such an iconic cornerstone of Rock and Roll and Blues.</p><p> </p><p>He scrunched his face, knowing he wasn’t being entirely fair. Of course Yuri didn't start by knowing everything there was to know about guitars. His sister made fun of his awful beginner skills plenty of times, and it wasn't until he started high school that he was able to achieve the kind of sound he had imagined. </p><p> </p><p>Sure, he was no Keith Richards, and he had nothing on Tom Yorke, but the more he played, the more he lost some of the initial spark that had caused him to completely immerse himself in the music to start with. He hadn't really found playing guitar a challenge in a while, it was just something he did on muscle memory alone, and while it made it easier to play nicely, it was a little... Boring.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed, remembering his own freak out the first time he broke the strings of his grandfather's guitar. He had nearly cried as well, and he wouldn't really be surprised if the kid had actually cried himself. Although it was hard to imagine such a cool looking guy crying over a broken string.</p><p> </p><p>~♪~</p><p> </p><p>The next day, Yuri dodged Emil's requests again and made his way to his usual spot, surprised to find Broken String Kid (as he had been referring to him in his head) once again sitting on his spot.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Yuri said, gently nudging him with his foot. He intended to ask the guy to move, but was interrupted by a pair of steely eyes looking at him. The kid gave him what Yuri assumed to be a smile, but made something uncomfortable stir inside his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>“Yuri.” He said.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri didn't remember introducing himself, but didn't dwell on it, because the guy was already rummaging through his guitar case. He presented Yuri with a 10 dollar bill.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you so much for yesterday.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri took it. He needed to buy more spare strings, so it was only fair.</p><p> </p><p>The guy pulled another 10 dollar bill and held it out to Yuri.</p><p> </p><p>“Please teach me to play guitar.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri's shoulders slumped. Ah, so there was a catch. This time Yuri refused to accept the bill, against his greedy impulses to take it as well.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I don't want your money.” He lied, sitting down and scratching his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Then, please.” The guy said, holding out a piece of bread. Now Yuri wasn't sure if he should be offended at being offered food in exchange for guitar lessons, but he ignored the grumbling of his stomach, shook his head and crossed his arms.</p><p> </p><p>“Money or food, I don't care. I'm not teaching you anything. I don't give classes, I don't know how. Teach yourself, it's not impossible. Hell I taught myself! Or, I don't know, join the music club? Maybe you can even set up a band with them.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri laid down and turned away from the guy, fully intending on basking in the sunlight and make up for yesterday's lost nap.</p><p> </p><p>“A band?”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri tensed.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you really not know what a band is? You're really hopeless if that's the case; even people who don't play know what a damn band is. If you don't want to play in a band why do you even have a guitar in the first place?”</p><p> </p><p>The guy slumped, so Yuri sat upright.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey now! Don't get all gloomy on me, what the fuck? It's fine if you want to be a solo artist or whatever, though that's kinda lame. Bands are cooler.” Yuri didn't say that because he himself was in a band; it was just a universal truth that bands were cooler than solo singers.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you... In a band?” The guy asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>Finally, the guy straightened up, looking at Yuri with big doe eyes that made Yuri freeze on the spot. He didn't even know why, but he didn't want those eyes to look away from him.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I watch you play?”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri's eyes widened. He refused over and over, giving him enough excuses to convince an entire stadium of people to get up and leave. Even when the guy didn't keep pressing, Yuri kept insisting that no, no he couldn't. And yet...</p><p> </p><p>“Who's that?” Christophe asked, already sitting behind the drumset.</p><p> </p><p>“He's like a stray puppy!” Yuri groaned. “He followed me here all the way from school, I couldn't lose him! I only changed his strings!”</p><p> </p><p>“I don't follow.” Chris said, clearly amused by Yuri's conflict.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, don't just stand there, at the very least introduce yourself to Chris!” Yuri stood to the side, pushing Otabek forward and hoping that it wasn't too obvious that he still didn't know the guy's name. “I know he doesn't look very smart, but Chris is very nice, so go ahead.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, sorry I'm late.” Viktor said, walking in without a second thought. He stopped on his tracks and looked at the guy curiously. “Who are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Who's that?” The guy asked Yuri, who was busy glaring daggers at Viktor for his tardiness.</p><p> </p><p>“That's our irresponsible bassist, Viktor. Now come on! We're all here!”</p><p> </p><p>“Nice to meet you.” The guy said, nodding once.</p><p> </p><p>Viktor leaned close to Christophe, whispering as he looked at the two teenagers.</p><p> </p><p>“What's going on, now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Beats me, Yura brought him over from school. You know our Little Tiger is capricious.”</p><p> </p><p>“I do, that's why I'm surprised… I didn’t even know he had friends at school.”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop whispering you pair of grandpas!”</p><p> </p><p>The two men gasped in unison. “We're not old!”</p><p> </p><p>“Your name.” Yuri said, turning to the guy with a frown. “You haven't told them your name.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'm Otabek Altin. I came to watch and learn.” The guy said when Yuri nudged him again.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn't have said anything more fitting to stroke Viktor and Christophe's egos, and Yuri regretted making him talk.</p><p> </p><p>“Watch and...” Viktor trailed off.</p><p> </p><p>“Learn.” Christophe completed for him, turning to the older man and pointing at him. Viktor pointed back.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly both of them were smoothing their hair and fixing their clothes, posing as if they were to appear on the cover of a magazine.</p><p> </p><p>“In that case, we'll give you a show you won't forget, Little Otabek.” Viktor said.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess we have no choice,” Chris added. “But to show you our natural skills.”</p><p> </p><p>“What? Are you guys serious right now?” Yuri sprung forward, walking close to his bandmates and out of Otabek’s earshot.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh? It's fine, it's not like we haven't performed in front of people before.” Viktor said, cocking his head to the side.</p><p> </p><p>“We've won competitions, Yura. I'm confident we'll blow the guy's mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“He knows nothing of music! He's probably expecting studio levels of quality! He probably doesn't know what mixing and pitch correction are, or that the instruments also get it done!” Yuri hissed.</p><p> </p><p>That seemed to do the trick, since Chris and Viktor turned to each other before going into near panic.</p><p> </p><p>“That requires godly levels of skill!”</p><p> </p><p>“No matter what we do, we'd have to jump through hoops for this kid!”</p><p> </p><p>“Just how bad do you want to impress him?” Yuri groaned, connecting his guitar to the amp and slinging the strap over his shoulder. “Who cares, let's just play like we usually do.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, that just won't do.” Viktor said, mirroring Yuri with his bass and turning to Chris.</p><p> </p><p>“That won't do.” Chris agreed. “We gotta leave him <em> Thunderstruck, </em>like Brian Johnson.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nice one!” Viktor beamed.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, you're such old men.” Yuri groaned.</p><p> </p><p>“What? Come on, it’s a classic! You love AC/DC.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri rolled his eyes and turned to Otabek. “Hey, what was your name again?” Shielded by his guitar and backed by his band, Yuri could feel his own walls crumble down.</p><p> </p><p>“Otabek Altin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Otabek, what do you like on the guitar?” At Otabek's confused blinking, Yuri sighed. “What do you want to listen to? We're playing for you, I mean.”</p><p> </p><p>Otabek nodded, looked at the floor with a frown, then looked up at Yuri with a determined look. “Something cool.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri felt his eye twitch. “That's... Way too subjective.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri shook his head. Whatever. He was always cool when he played so he'd just play. He took the lead, starting with a strong riff that made his bandmates gape at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Ooh! Someone's fired up!” Viktor hummed, glancing at Chris with a smirk. “You ready?”</p><p> </p><p>“Bring it!”</p><p> </p><p>They played like they hadn't played in a while. It didn't go under anyone's radar that perhaps the strange Broken String Kid named Otabek was exactly what Yuri needed to revive his performance.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri didn’t try hiding how proud he was to see Otabek's awestruck expression after their song was over.</p><p> </p><p>“So, what did you think, Beks?” Chris asked, drying the sweat of his forehead with his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Cool, wasn't it?” Viktor prompted, fixing his long bangs and remaking his low bun. “We're pretty popular already. You're lucky you got to see a private sesh for free; we don’t usually take requests.”</p><p> </p><p>Otabek nodded. “It was cool.” He said, much too flat for Yuri’s taste.</p><p> </p><p>“At least sound like you mean it!” Yuri said, pushing his own bangs back and glaring at Otabek.</p><p> </p><p>They played some more, with Otabek sitting on the floor by the speakers. Yuri wasn't sure why or how, but once practice was over he found himself walking alongside him.</p><p> </p><p>“Why am I walking you to the train station, again?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck, then adjusting the straps of his guitar case over his shoulders. “Hey, are you even listening to me? Did you go deaf from sitting next to the speakers? I told you not to sit there.” Yuri bit the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t like there were many other places to sit that wouldn’t have the same effect, but the silence was enough to bring out his argumentative side.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek turned to Yuri, his face morphed into that determined look that made Yuri's stomach drop to his knees. “Can I come see you play again?”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri felt heat slowly creeping up his cheeks, so he turned away, hoping his hair would cover his face. “No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Teach me to play guitar.”</p><p> </p><p>“God, aren't you stubborn!” Yuri growled. “I already told you: Go to the music club. I'm not trying to be mean, I swear. I'm saying it for your own sake. I've never taught anyone so you wouldn't learn much. Plus, you don't even listen to me now, so I'm not convinced you would listen to me at all.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri ignored the other two times Otabek asked him to teach him before they arrived at the train station. He tried to push the whole situation out of his mind as he walked into his apartment.</p><p> </p><p>“You're late.” Mila said from where she was laying on the couch. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you to fry the cheburekis.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri squinted at her, scowling at her scandalous choice of lounging clothes. “Why are you even wearing that? Grandpa would tell you to put on pants, jeez.” He said, shuddering at the sight of his sister's tiny pajama shorts. “Sometimes I doubt you're my sister <em> or </em> a girl when you sit like that. Gross.”</p><p> </p><p>“Blagh, shut up and fry the thing you squirt, they're in the fridge.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don't call me that, you old hag!”</p><p> </p><p>He moved to the kitchen anyways, preparing a pan and the oil and taking out the food.</p><p> </p><p>“...Hey, Mila. Can you remember what I was like when I started playing guitar?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah? A bunch of noise and no rhythm.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri groaned. “I should've known better than to ask you about it.” He sighed. He didn't remember much either. It would probably be a better idea to ask his grandpa when he came back from work.</p><p> </p><p>He wondered if he also had that doe eyed look when he was starting to play.</p><p> </p><p>The next two days at school he accepted Emil's proposal to play basketball, unwilling to give Otabek and his guitar more brain energy than he deserved. He wished he hadn’t agreed to play, though. None of his shots went into the ring, and he fell flat on his ass a few times.</p><p> </p><p>“What's up, Yura? You've been out of it since yesterday.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, I'm just...” Yuri trailed off with the excuse of wiping the sweat of his face with the inside of his shirt.</p><p> </p><p>He glanced at the door that led to the stairs. He didn't want to teach such a hopeless beginner from the ground up. It sounded like too much effort and responsibility. But he was curious. He hadn't gone there since the previous day, and he was sure Otabek was waiting for him. He wasn't ready to see his kicked puppy face, but the longer he waited, the sadder Otabek would become, he was sure. For whatever reason, he didn’t want Otabek to get that gloomy look he had when Yuri refused to change his strings the first time they met.</p><p> </p><p>He took a swig of water and turned to one of his classmates. “Yo, chicken nugget! Sub for me.” He said before leaving the court.</p><p> </p><p>He slid through the door, unsure as to why he felt guiltier than whenever he had to leave his cat locked away for a few hours.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek wasn't there.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri was surprised. Of course he didn't want to take his stubbornness back and actually teach him, but something felt wrong about Otabek's sudden absence.</p><p> </p><p>He didn't go there the next day, or the day after. Yuri felt like he should give up and just reclaim his napping spot, stop thinking about the guy with the sad eyes and the broken string.</p><p> </p><p>But he couldn't.</p><p> </p><p>Even Chris took notice when they saw each other at their part time job. For the most part, he let Yuri go around the convenience store refilling shelves without saying anything. Until the end of their shift, that was.</p><p> </p><p>“Your mouth is hanging open.” He said, trying to give Yuri a crate of juice boxes to refill the shelf with, but Yuri just stood there staring at the metal. “Hey, anybody home?” He asked, knocking twice on Yuri's head. “You've been making weird faces the past few days.”</p><p> </p><p>“That's just my face.” Yuri said, finally taking the juices and carefully arranging them on the shelf.</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, you're usually more... Ah, how should I say it? Regal.”</p><p> </p><p>“What's that supposed to mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I see. Is this about that guy, what's his name? Allen, Omar, John?”</p><p> </p><p>“Otabek.”</p><p> </p><p>“You should talk to him. I think it would benefit you, as well.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh?” Yuri turned to look at what he refused to recognize as his friend.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, weren't you super hyped up last time we jammed for him? I haven't seen you like that in a while. It was because he was there, wasn't it? But well, I'm heading to the studio.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri watched as Chris headed over to the employee's room and blinked once, then twice, then stared at his feet.</p><p> </p><p>Had he really been that different?</p><p> </p><p>He hurried to fill the shelf and chased after the man. They ended up walking in silence all the way to the studio they rented.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, we got held back at work.” Chris announced as they walked in.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah! I'm glad you're here, did you get the message I sent you asking to buy me some tea, Chris?” Viktor asked. “Otabek was waiting outside when I arrived so I told him to come in.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri's eyes widened. “What?” He pushed past the two men, ducking under their arms to look at the guy with his own eyes. “You! What-- Where--”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, calm down, Yuri.” Viktor said, patting Yuri's shoulder and earning an annoyed hiss. “He wanted to show you something, didn't you, Beka?”</p><p> </p><p>Otabek held out the guitar. Yuri blinked at him, unsure of what he should be looking at.</p><p> </p><p>“He changed the strings by himself!” Yuri looked closer, not seeing anything noteworthy about the strings. Could he be lying? “And listen!”</p><p> </p><p>Otabek strummed once, then looked at Yuri. “Is it tuned?”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri bit the inside of his lip. He thought that being in a band had made him immune to thinking boys with guitars were cool, especially when they clearly didn't know what they were doing. </p><p> </p><p>Clearly, he was wrong.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you go to the music club?” Yuri asked.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek nodded. “I did, but--” Yuri wasn’t surprised they rejected such a hopeless newbie as Otabek, but he still felt bad for the kid. “I think you're cooler.” At this, Yuri's eyes widened. He brought a hand up to cover his burning cheek and turned to the amp closer to him, suddenly fascinated by the pattern of the wood grain. “So please, teach me to play.”</p><p> </p><p>This time Yuri couldn't bring himself to refuse. Instead, he sighed. Otabek took it as a win, if his pleased smile was anything to go by.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, we'll have a smoke break, then!” Chris said, standing up and practically dragging Viktor out.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh? We literally just got here! If you two sang, you wouldn’t be able to hold a single note!”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri groaned as the two so-called “adults” left the room, and turned to Otabek.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you know the anatomy of a guitar?” He asked, groaning harder at Otabek's puzzled face as he looked down at his Gibson.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri sat down and reluctantly pointed at every part of the guitar. “Look, this is the head of the guitar. These pegs right here are the tuning keys. This is the neck, this is the nut<em> . </em>See these ridges? They're called frets, the sections between frets are the fretboards.” Yuri paused to look at Otabek, who so far had only nodded every time Yuri had pointed at anything. “Hey, don't just nod, are you listening to me?” Otabek nodded in response. Yuri very nearly lost his grip. “Are you even understanding what I'm saying?” He yelled, screaming when Otabek simply nodded again.</p><p> </p><p>After a few more attempts at teaching the rest of the parts to Otabek, and plenty of frustrated screams, Viktor and Chris walked back in.</p><p> </p><p>“We're back.” Viktor hummed. “Hey! Looks like you're making progress!”</p><p> </p><p>“Progress my ass, I doubt that I'm getting through to him.”</p><p> </p><p>Viktor moved to kneel next to them and looked at Otabek. “Hey, Otabek. If you're serious about playing music, there's something that you <em> must </em> start thinking about.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, yes. <b>That</b>. I'm always running out of it.” Chris nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I'd be in trouble without <b>that</b>.” Yuri agreed.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek looked at them for a second before furrowing his eyebrows. “That?” He asked.</p><p> </p><p>Viktor laughed before going completely serious, a dark aura setting around him. “Money.” He said. “You don't expect Yurochka to keep changing your strings for free, do you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Money makes the world go 'round.” Chris added, equally as serious. “Rental fees, studio fees, you gotta chip in if you're stopping by with us.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri handed him the job section of a newspaper they had laying around and smirked. “Come on, pick one.”</p><p> </p><p>At that point, Otabek’s eyes were wide as he held the piece of paper. He looked like he would start shaking at any minute. Yuri sympathized with him: working sucked. Still, it wasn’t <em> that </em> bad.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh? I think we scared him.” Viktor said, noticing Otabek's distraught expression.</p><p> </p><p>“It's not that bad, just pick a job.” Chris shrugged. “We’ll get you a newer newspaper next time you come over, that one’s from last month.”</p><p> </p><p>“He can get it himself.” Yuri said.</p><p> </p><p>〜✮〜</p><p> </p><p>“You guys have been hanging around a lot lately.” Emil said when Yuri pulled out the paper bag that contained his lunch.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh?” Yuri looked up, taking out the small milk carton and piercing the foil with his straw. “What do you mean <em> you guys?” </em>  He asked, making air quotes with his left hand only.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon. That guy from the other class. What was his name? Omar? Alek?”</p><p> </p><p>“Otabek?”</p><p> </p><p>“Bingo. How did you guys get so close all of a sudden?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not close.” Yuri frowned, taking a sip of his milk and digging through the bag for a syrniki. </p><p> </p><p>“You haven’t been hanging out with us lately because you’re having lunch with him, right?” Emil tried to take one of the small pancakes, only to have his hand viciously slapped away by Yuri.</p><p> </p><p>“Neither of you are very sociable, you go to different classes and have different styles, so what’s up?” Sala asked, startling both of the boys as she comfortably sat down on the edge of the table.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri looked at her, marginally amused at how fast rumors traveled at school.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s the hot topic among the girls.” She added.</p><p> </p><p>“The hot topic?” Yuri asked, dread washing over him like the waves ashore. He pushed her off the table. “Get your ass off, we’re eating.” He grumbled.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Otabek is really cool, isn’t he? He has a lot of secret fans, but he seems so… Hard to approach.” She hummed. For some inexplicable reason, her comment made Yuri feel more than a little irritated, but before he could snap something at her, she continued. “He seemed so mysterious before and then suddenly he got all attached to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yo, Plisetsky.” Someone else said all the way from the door. </p><p> </p><p>“Speak of the devil.” Sala said when she noticed that Otabek was standing by the door. She turned back to Yuri and leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Are you two gay or something?”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh-- What?” Yuri glared at her, and instead of dignifying her question with an answer, he grabbed his guitar case and walked out.</p><p> </p><p>Once they were in their spot by the stairs, Yuri lost no time going back over what they saw the day before. He was teaching Otabek a simple chord progression, just so he’d be able to say he knew how to play something, instead of hauling around a guitar just for the looks.</p><p> </p><p>Despite not knowing shit about music, Otabek had a good ear and he was a freakishly fast learner, which surprised Yuri. But then again, just about anything that Otabek ever did was bound to surprise Yuri in one way or another. </p><p> </p><p>It felt good to watch other people grow.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri was still puzzled about him. He still didn’t know what made him start playing, or what was up with his guitar. It simply wasn’t right for an amateur. And one in high school, at that.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey.” Yuri started, getting Otabek’s attention. He pointed at the guitar. “Did your father or somebody hand it down to you?”</p><p> </p><p>Otabek cocked his head. “I don’t have a father.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah. Oh, sorry.” Yuri looked down at his lap, completely sure he had messed up. Technically, he didn’t have a father either, but saying that felt like he was betraying his grandfather. </p><p>Nikolai had raised Yuri and taken care of him since he had memory. For all Yuri cared, he <em> was </em> his father. “Well then… What music do you like? You must have a favorite, right? Or a song?” He asked, trying to dispel the awkwardness of the previous attempt at a conversation.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek stared at him for a moment. Yuri was about to ask again when Otabek shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri felt his eyelid twitch. “You--”<br/>
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</p><p>“I don’t know if I like it or not,” Otabek continued. “But there’s a song that keeps playing inside my head.”</p><p> </p><p>This time Yuri was sure Otabek had completely lost it. A song inside his brain? Did he mean an earworm? Some sort of alien technology sending an advanced tune to him? Was that his motivation to learn guitar? Was he even human?</p><p> </p><p>“Uuh… What kind of song is it?” Silence. “What’s its name?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think it has a title.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, uh…”</p><p> </p><p>“It goes like this:” For the smallest moment, Yuri expected Otabek to whip out a sick riff on the guitar and make him question why he even needed classes in the first place. Maybe he watched too many cartoons, because that didn’t happen.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, Otabek opened his mouth, vocalizing a tune that made the entire atmosphere of the stairs shift, like shuddering. Yuri’s heart sped up in his chest, supplying a beat where Chris’ drums would usually be.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek wasn’t saying any words, he was just humming, improvising. A collection of <em> la, la, la, </em> at most. And yet Yuri felt an incredible sense of sadness coming from his voice alone. It weighed heavily in his chest, and made itself comfortable right next to his racing heart, oppressing his lungs and making it hard to breath.</p><p> </p><p>Would it be disrespectful to suck in air when everything was so full of such a great sense of loss?</p><p> </p><p>Finally, Otabek stopped. He looked at Yuri as if he didn’t just open an entire new dimension of emotions for the blond. “That kind of song.” He said.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri leaned forward. This time, he was the one that was way too close, if Otabek’s wide eyes were any indication.</p><p> </p><p>He stared at Otabek in the eye, determined. “Join our band.”</p><p> </p><p>✩</p><p><br/>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Verse 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I haven’t heard anything from you in so long!” He continued as he looked Otabek up and down. The fact that his presence was not acknowledged at all irked Yuri. This bastard … Who was he, anyways? “Where have you been? What are you doing he—” The dude’s eyes caught on Otabek’s guitar case and he stopped mid word, mouth still open as he very clearly deleted the rest of his sentence from his brain and started over. “Wait, what’s that?" He mumbled, like an idiot. "Is it … Is it Leo’s guitar? So you play music now?”</p><p> </p><p>[An unforeseen reunion, an unfamiliar name and a rumor.]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy birthday to our Lord and Savior, Victor Nikiforov.</p><p>♡♡♡Thank you as always to Surka and Venom for helping me untangle this mess! You guys are the best of the best ♡♡♡</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Otabek never knew how to react. </p><p> </p><p>Things other people could easily do, like cry and laugh, he could never do correctly. Even during the saddest moments of his life he didn’t cry.</p><p> </p><p>And it still hurt.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted other people to understand, but it was as if his voice was trapped inside his chest; wet and sticky, choking him into silence.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek never knew how to express himself, but he wanted someone to understand.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>⏸</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>[Plisetsky, Yuri. Age 17.]</p><p> </p><p>“Join our band.” </p><p> </p><p>Otabek stared at him for a full second. Yuri kept eye contact until Otabek’s eyes slid to the floor as he slumped. His hands clutched the guitar close to his chest before he shook his head twice.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll pass.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “HUH?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yuri was shocked, and even more shocked to see that gloomy expression taking over Otabek as he cradled the guitar and leaned into it.</p><p> </p><p>Even two hours later, during class, Yuri couldn’t tear his mind away from Otabek’s unexpected rejection. He couldn’t understand it: Otabek even called him cool!</p><p> </p><p>He groaned, dropping his head down on the table with a bang. “What the hell? God damnit!”.</p><p> </p><p>Emil turned to look at him, startled. “Are you having <em> that much </em> trouble with the equations?” He dared to ask.</p><p> </p><p>“No! It’s that idiot from the other class!”</p><p> </p><p>“Omar?”</p><p><br/>
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“Otabek!” Yuri hissed, not minding the weird looks he was getting from his classmates. Yuri’s version of whispering was closer to most people’s indoor speaking voices, after all. “I invited him to join the band I’m in, and yet that asshole rejected me!”</p><p> </p><p>“I see …” Emil hummed. "And you're upset about that?"</p><p> </p><p>“That means that you weren’t expecting him to reject you!” The human chicken nugget joined the conversation, leaning over his desk behind Yuri's.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri glared at him. “Of course I didn’t! Why would I invite him to join us if I were expecting him to say no?” Tossing a ball of paper at Emil for starting the conversation, which the brunet retaliated. The nugget also joined in the fight right on time for the teacher to call them out. </p><p>They had to clean the entire classroom for that.</p><p> </p><p>What didn’t help with Yuri’s mood, though, was having his idiot bandmates straight up laugh in his face when he explained his situation to them.</p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit, that’s too funny.” Chris said, wiping a tear out of his eye.</p><p> </p><p>“I said cut it out!” Yuri groaned, tossing a spare drumstick at him. “And to top it off, he didn’t even come! I tell you, he’s avoiding me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, no, actually.” Viktor sniffled as he got his composure back under control. “He told me he had a job interview today, that’s why he didn’t show up.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri stared at him, only partially appeased by his words. “He … Told you? How? When?”</p><p> </p><p>“He texted me.” Viktor mentioned, like it was obvious. “Wait, you don’t have his number?” He covered his mouth with his hand. An exaggerated gesture that made Yuri wondered if there was a camera following him around. Perhaps in his mind.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri turned to Chris, who shook his head emphatically. “Not me, I don’t have it either.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, he’s just doing what we told him.” Viktor continued. “We asked him to find a part time job and he did. It means he’s taking this seriously, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Then why did he reject me?” Yuri all but screamed, threading his fingers through his hair and whining loudly. “Such a good voice going to waste! If you had heard him, you’d understand my agony!”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, did you ask him why he didn’t want to join?” Viktor reached for his bottle of water and started to play with the cap. “Contact info aside, you should try to communicate with him. Music is all about communicating, right? At the very least a band should communicate properly, and if you want him to join …” He trailed off, then gave Yuri an overly sympathetic look. “I just worry about you sometimes.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri groaned. He wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t need to get all sappy and motherly about it.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe I said too much.” Viktor draped an arm over his chest, holding his chin with the opposite hand. Yuri groaned—majoring in theater had made Viktor more dramatic than ever, and more annoying to deal with.</p><p> </p><p>“No, you’re right. You can’t just go around assuming he’s avoiding you just because he refused to join the band.” Chris placed a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri rolled his eyes. “You two should marry and retire already.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not old!” Viktor cried.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, your hair is literally gray!” Yuri pointed at Viktor with a devious smirk.</p><p> </p><p>"It's not <em> gray! </em> It's platinum blond."</p><p> </p><p>He was relieved once their booked practice time was over. Yuri couldn’t help but think perhaps Chris had been right about Otabek influencing his performance.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri waited near the building when he finally managed to find out where Otabek's interview was. It had taken a while to convince Viktor to tell him. The music venue wasn't unfamiliar to the guitarist; the band had played there a handful of times.</p><p> </p><p>“Yuri.” Otabek jogged over.</p><p> </p><p>“I heard you had a job interview.” He watched as Otabek nodded. “Um … How did it go?”</p><p> </p><p>“They said I can start next week.”</p><p> </p><p>“I see.” Yuri looked at him, surprised Otabek could actually socialize with people enough to get hired. He cleared his throat, fully intending to heed Viktor’s advice and talk to Otabek about his reasons to reject his offer. "Listen, about the band—"</p><p> </p><p>“Otabek?” Someone interrupted him.</p><p> </p><p>The unknown voice made Otabek tense and straighten up. He tried to look over Yuri's shoulder, so Yuri turned around and stepped aside, knowing that his guitar case was blocking the view. </p><p> </p><p>“Beka.” The guy repeated as he walked closer, a shocked smile on his face. “What are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>Looking at him up close, Yuri realized there was nothing impressive or noteworthy about him, aside from the fact that he was shorter than Yuri himself. </p><p>He had light brown hair —clearly bleached, his roots were showing—and dark eyes, a round baby face and was wearing a private school uniform.</p><p> </p><p>There was a guitar case on his back.</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t heard anything from you in so long!” He continued, pushing his messy bangs back, eyebrows raised high on his face as he looked Otabek up and down. The fact that his presence was not acknowledged at all irked Yuri. This bastard … Who was he, anyways? “Where have you been? What are you doing he—” The dude’s eyes caught on Otabek’s guitar case and he stopped mid word, mouth still open as he very clearly deleted the rest of his sentence from his brain and started over. “Wait, what’s that?" He mumbled, like an idiot. "Is it … Is it Leo’s guitar? So you play music now?” His eyes bounced back to Otabek’s face.</p><p> </p><p>Turning to Otabek, Yuri had a million questions in his mind. Who the fuck was this guy and who the fuck was Leo? What was going on? Did Otabek know him? He was about to start with that, but Otabek’s expression caught him off-guard. Was that … fear? Shock? He didn’t have time to pick it apart; his friend turned on his heels and broke into a sprint, away from the small, prodding guy and away from <em> him. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Hey!” Yuri turned toward the guy, who was just as surprised and confused as him. Yuri wanted to ask what the hell was that all about, but the kid was looking at the building; avoiding his eyes like a coward.</p><p>So Yuri didn’t have more options than to run after Otabek. Surprisingly, that dude was fast.</p><p> </p><p>He caught Otabek a block and a half later, after pushing past a few pedestrians who couldn’t recognize urgency when it crashed into them head first.</p><p> </p><p>“Beka! Don’t you hear me? Hey!” He hissed when he grabbed Otabek’s arm. “What’s going—” He paused, breathless. Otabek turned around, but his head remained tilted down. His dark, messy hair stuck out and flopped over his eyes. Was he crying? Yuri couldn’t tell, so he leaned in and carefully pushed his bangs away. “Hey are you …” </p><p> </p><p>Otabek wasn’t crying, Yuri soon realized. His expression resembled someone who had tasted something sour, or felt a weird crunch in a mouthful of soft food. Yuri didn’t know what to make of it, but he couldn’t keep quiet either.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright? Who was that guy? Do you know him?” Yuri pressed his lips into a thin line as the silence coming from Otabek continued to grow. “Who’s Leo? … Is it something you can’t talk about?” His voice was calm now that he had caught his breath. Even Yuri could tell screaming at Otabek for answers wouldn’t be productive in this situation. He thought about the times he would lock himself in his room after throwing a tantrum, trying to imitate his grandpa’s soothing but firm tone. “Does it have anything to do with why you don’t want to join the band?”</p><p> </p><p>Otabek met Yuri’s eyes, and Yuri straightened up.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s got nothing to do with that.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri could only blink at him. He had never heard Otabek string that many words together.</p><p> </p><p>“Then why …” Why did he say no? Why did he run away? Why did that guy mentioning a simple name scare him off like that? Yuri had too many questions, but couldn’t ask any.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek looked away. “If you’re in a band … You have to be in front of people. You have to express yourself in front of people, right? … People often tell me that I look like I don’t care about anything.” He paused and scoffed. Laughed? Yuri wasn’t sure. “Sometimes even I think so, I’m not sure.” He paused again inhaling sharply through his nose. “It’s probably because I’m not as good as others when it comes to expressing myself.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri wasn’t sure why, but hearing those words from Otabek made his blood boil. How could he say something like that when he looked so hurt?</p><p> </p><p>“Are you a total idiot, or what?” Yuri spat, making Otabek finally glance at him again. Despite his best attempts at holding himself together, Yuri hadn't been blessed with his grandpa’s temper. “You’re bad at expressing yourself? Bullshit!” Yuri grabbed Otabek’s collar and pulled him in to eye level. He wasn’t letting him run away again. “The only reason I invited you to join my band was because your song moved me so much! You think it was because you're good at guitar?” </p><p> </p><p>Yuri watched as Otabek’s brow furrowed, his eyes shining with unshed tears.</p><p> </p><p>Scoffing and letting go of his collar, Yuri instead slid his hand down to rest on Otabek’s shoulder. “Seriously, how can you say that when you’re making a face like that?” Yuri paused and looked at him. He swallowed the urge to suggest that maybe he’d be better at communicating if he used more than a couple words at a time.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t sure if it was the leftover frustration, or the fact that he was standing so close to Otabek under a dim streetlight, but his heart was hammering in Yuri’s ear. </p><p> </p><p>“Sing for me again. I also liked that song.” He demanded.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek met his eyes. His sorrowful melody flowed out like blood from a fresh cut. The familiar warmth of pain filled Yuri from the inside. </p><p> </p><p>This time, Yuri could better recognize the tune—it was loss. It was like his grandpa telling him he wouldn’t see his mother again when he was 5 years old. Like saying goodbye to a dear friend.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri had to cast his eyes down.</p><p> </p><p>Like a coward.</p><p> </p><p>✭☆✭</p><p> </p><p>“Yuri, dinner!”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri jotted down the chord he had just played and looked at the sheet of paper. He started from the top, angrily crossing out a note that threw the entire melody out of beat. </p><p> </p><p>He adjusted his headphones and held the guitar, willing to try again when the door of his room slammed open.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Yuri!” </em> His sister groaned. “Huh? What’s this mess?” She glanced at where he was sitting on the floor, completely surrounded by crumpled papers and album discs.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri took off his headphones and looked at her. “Huh?”<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t <em> 'huh' </em> me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dinner?” </p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing?” She bent over and picked one of the discarded papers closest to her feet.</p><p> </p><p>“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” He frowned, only then noticing she was in her bra and a pair of jeans. Yuri was convinced his sister was the reason he didn’t find girls attractive at all: she had completely desensitized him to legs and breasts.</p><p> </p><p>She stuck out her tongue at him. “Mind your own business.” </p><p> </p><p>“Then don’t come asking what I’m doing!”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever, dinner’s ready.” Mila turned around and walked out the door. “Get up or your ass is gonna go numb.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri was much too proud to tell her she was a few minutes too late for that.</p><p> </p><p>After dinner was over, he went straight to his room to finish tweaking the song.</p><p> </p><p>As he scribbled on a piece of paper, his cat decided the pen was an acceptable target to pounce, causing him to draw a line across the page.</p><p> </p><p>“Potya! I’m working here!” He groaned, trying in vain to move the ball of fluff away from the paper. Trying to stay mad at his cat was as futile as refusing to teach Otabek guitar, and so Yuri soon found himself bending down to the charm of the animal. “Do you want to write music with daddy? Do you want to learn guitar too? You can play your whiskers like a guitar.” He cooed, gently toying with the cat’s bristly hairs until a deceivingly fluffy paw smacked on his hand. “Ouch!” Yuri hissed, bringing his hand up to his mouth and glaring at the cat. “Puma Tiger Scorpion Plisetsky, I didn’t raise you to be like this, young lady!”</p><p> </p><p>He kept working on the melody while also tossing crumpled up papers for his cat to chase after. However, Yuri went into full panic whenever she managed to bite off a piece and refused to let him take it out of her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>The musical endeavors only came to an end when his grandpa peeked in and asked why he was still up so late, insisting that the dim light would leave him blind like a mole.</p><p> </p><p>It was way past midnight when he fell asleep.</p><p> </p><p>☾</p><p> </p><p>[Class 2A, Lunchtime.]</p><p> </p><p>“Yuuuri! It’s finally your favorite time of the day!” The chicken nugget chirped. “Lunchtime!”</p><p> </p><p>“I think he’s dead for real,” Emil mused, shaking the blond only to have him groan and halfheartedly swat at him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll wake him up!” Sala offered, sauntering over and gently poking him while she called his name.</p><p> </p><p>Both boys wished her luck and stood near the door as they watched her attempts fall flat. Kenjirou turned around when someone tapped his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, hey! You’re from the other class.” He grinned.</p><p> </p><p>“Is Yuri here?” Otabek poked his head in.</p><p> </p><p>Emil answered. “Oh, you see, Yuri is about to be dragged by Sala right as we speak,” </p><p> </p><p>“If she can carry a dead body, that is.” Kenjirou nodded along.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek looked into the classroom. Yuri was still laying down on his desk, skillfully ignoring the girl’s attempts at making him act conscious.</p><p> </p><p>He drew in a deep breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Yuri!”</p><p> </p><p>Just like that, Yuri sprung to life and stood up, grabbed his guitar case and walked over without another word.</p><p> </p><p>“Woah! It worked!” Emil and the chicken nugget chorused.</p><p> </p><p>“So today is guitar, huh?” Emil sighed, as Yuri shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to get someone from Otabek’s class to play with us.”</p><p> </p><p>Sala watched as Otabek and Yuri left, ignoring Bella’s comment about how creepy her face was at that moment.</p><p> </p><p>“I just don’t understand him.” Sala sighed. “Are they homo, or what? Like, Yuri’s always hanging around him lately, I mean, you saw that, right? He stood up as soon as he heard his voice! I was trying to wake him up before, it’s so unfair.” She crossed her arms and pouted. Bella hummed. “What is it?” Sala turned to her friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it just made me remember something.” At Sala’s prodding, Bella continued. “Well, I went to the same middle school as Otabek.”<br/>
<br/>
“Ah, yeah, you told me that. Were you in the same class?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, but you know, rumors travel fast at school.” She glanced at her friend and widened her eyes. “You know, <em> those </em> kinds of rumors.”</p><p> </p><p>▷♂♡♂◁</p><p> </p><p>“Otabek, do you have time on the weekend?” Yuri turned to his friend, absently drumming his fingers on his guitar case before opening it and taking the instrument out.</p><p> </p><p>“I have my job in the evening.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah.” Otabek gave him a curious look, so Yuri shrugged. “I think we should go check out some effect pedals,” Yuri suggested, completely expecting Otabek’s confused face. “They’re like—Well, they depend on the type, but basically they’re things around <em> this </em> size, and they make your guitar sound cooler when you connect it to the amp and switch it on.”</p><p> </p><p>“The amp is … ” Otabek trailed off, looking up as he thought.</p><p> </p><p>“The amplifier.”</p><p> </p><p>“Those things that looked like speakers?”</p><p> </p><p>“Right. How much money do you have?” Otabek looked down and sighed. He shook his head. It was enough for Yuri to understand. “I figured.” Yuri scratched his head and glanced at the guitar. He had learned that Otabek’s family didn’t have a lot of money, since it was just him and his mom, which only made him more curious about the damned Gibson. That guy they met the other night implied it was someone else’s, right? “Well, it doesn’t matter. There are lots of types of pedals, which means that the prices vary just as much. I’m sure we’ll find something.” Yuri watched as Otabek turned away and furrowed his brow. “You ok?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Sounds complicated.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri snickered. “In the meanwhile, I can lend you mine, just for a while, so you can try it and get a feel for it.” He pulled his pedal from one of the side pockets and handed it to his friend. It was a basic thing, with only two effects to choose from, but he had saved for months to buy it back in middle school. He bought it all on allowance money and his grandpa taking pity on him. “I won’t go easy on you once I convince you to join the band, got it? I won’t spoil you anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>The conversation lulled as Otabek bit his lip and looked away. “Say, Yuri …” He started, but then quieted down again. Yuri heard him mumble something about a girl, but couldn't make out the details. It sounded like a question, though.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, if you have something to say then say it.” Yuri frowned after half a minute. He didn’t like being left in suspense. </p><p>Otabek just slumped against the wall, distantly looking at the steps of the stairs. It reminded Yuri of the look Otabek had when he refused to change the strings of his guitar. That was enough to get him to backtrack. “Okay, okay. If you don’t want to talk then just say so, jeez. I feel like I’m bullying you.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been doing something lately, right?” Otabek didn’t turn to look at him.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri nodded enthusiastically. He hadn’t answered Otabek’s texts the night before because he was busy. “Ah, yes! I’m composing a song for you!”</p><p> </p><p>Otabek’s eyes widened as he turned. Yuri could practically see the sparkles surrounding him. “A song?” Otabek gaped.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, yeah. The tune you sang before, I was thinking of arranging it into a song. I’ve never heard it before, and I listen to a lot of music, so I don’t think I’m plagiarizing anyone.” </p><p> </p><p>“You remember it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I did! I’ve heard it twice, you know? I mean, you do know—<em> you </em> sang it to me,” Yuri mumbled. He moved to grab his guitar just so he’d have something to do with his fiddling hands.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He played the riff and the bridge, humming along and trying to ignore how hot his face was as he did so. “Like that, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Otabek nodded. "You're the best."</p><p> </p><p>“Wh- huh? I mean, I filled in a lot, since you only sang like 40 seconds of it.” Yuri pressed his cheek into his shoulder, trying to scratch his nose on the fabric and hoping to hide his face.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to hear it.” Otabek scooted closer. Yuri bit his lip, but nodded. He had made Otabek sing twice for him, so it was only fair.</p><p> </p><p>When he was done playing, Otabek stayed silent, completely lost in thought as he stared at Yuri’s guitar.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri glanced at him, not wanting to break the silence with his voice, but not feeling like playing again.</p><p> </p><p>After a few seconds, Otabek raised his eyes to meet Yuri’s. His brow creasing slightly, the novice guitaris took in a mouthful of air before speaking up. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll join the band.”</p><p> </p><p>.•。・♪・。•.</p><p> </p><p>Just as Yuri thought, convincing the guys to let Otabek join them only took having Otabek sing a snippet of the melody. Viktor especially was elated to hear him. </p><p> </p><p>“There aren’t many singers who can bare their souls without using any words,” he complimented, fist covering his mouth. “I’m sure you’ll bring us all to our knees when you find the words you’re missing.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri turned to Chris, looking for validation from the other man and Chris nodded. “You had me enchanted the entire time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ha! See? I can recognize talent when I hear it.” Yuri goaded, arms akimbo as he stood proudly next to his friend.</p><p> </p><p>After that, the week flowed seamlessly.</p><p>Emil convinced Yuri to play ball with them by asking Otabek to join them. The asshole agreed without hesitation.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri didn’t know Otabek was into sports, but he excelled: never missing a single shot or pass. </p><p> </p><p>Yuri had never seen Otabek openly grin, let alone laugh, but as he jumped and shot, he <em> did. </em></p><p> </p><p>Whenever Otabek smiled when he was with Yuri, it was as if he were holding back something. But as he landed and watched the ball score three points, he seemed genuinely happy. He turned to Yuri, bent forward with his hands on his knees, chuckling breathlessly.</p><p> </p><p>Normally, Yuri would’ve taken it as an insult—he was on the opposing team, after all. Yet, at that moment, he was frozen.</p><p> </p><p>After the bell rang, Yuri eyed Otabek. He dried his sweaty forehead with his shirt, causing the hem to raise and reveal a good portion of his abdomen. If Yuri hadn’t been sweating before, he was now.</p><p> </p><p>“Damn, Altin, that was sick!” Emil  patted Otabek on the back, then rubbed the sweat off on his pants with an awkward laugh. “Ew.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes! We have to make you play with us again; you’re better than Yuri!” The nugget chided, glancing at Yuri then bursting into laughter as the other glared back at him. “Good game!” He ran off to their next class.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, I smell like updog.” Yuri complained.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek opened his mouth, then closed it and snickered, gently punching Yuri on the shoulder before taking off to his classroom. “See you,” he called out as he left.</p><p> </p><p>To say Yuri was stunned he could hear Otabek all the way from where he was standing was an understatement.</p><p> </p><p>△▽△</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s make one of our tunes into a song,” Chris suggested as they waited for their food to be brought to their table. “Since we used to be an instrumental band, none of our melodies have lyrics, but now that we have Beka it would be a waste not to take the opportunity to—are you guys listening to me?” </p><p> </p><p>No one was, in fact, listening to Chris. Everyone stared at the waiter as he made his way to their table. The whole atmosphere was that of a pack of hungry lionesses stalking prey, and since Chris's back was turned to the kitchen, he had no idea of how close to pouncing they all were.</p><p> </p><p>When the poor waiter reached the table, everyone sprung up and freed his arms of the two trays he was precariously transporting. They lost no time setting the food on the table, opening the dippings and grabbing their drinks.</p><p> </p><p>Chris sighed when Otabek passed him a small boat of onion rings and a tiny tub of ranch. “Thank you.” He turned to Viktor and punched his shoulder. “Hey, don’t get too drunk. I’m not dragging you to your apartment.”</p><p> </p><p>As Yuri stuffed his face with fries and garlic bread, he was surprised how smoothly everything moved when things were going well. He desperately wanted to bask in it, hoping to get used to it.</p><p> </p><p>※</p><p> </p><p>“...Now pair up and revise your partner’s essay. Circle any spelling mistakes with red and underline grammar mistakes with blue.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri turned when Sala tapped him twice on the shoulder. “Do you have a partner?” He stared at her, ignoring the voice in his head that told him no, of course he didn’t have a partner; the teacher had <em> literally </em> just told them to pair up. She dragged a chair close by and sat down, anyways.</p><p> </p><p>Yuri gave her his paper and took hers, circling a mistake as soon as he glanced at the title. Great, he was off to a great start there.</p><p> </p><p>“I wonder…” Sala started as she read over Yuri’s writing, the pen unmoving in her hand, “If maybe Otabek likes you.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri's heart skipped. He glanced at her. Was this another stupid rumor? He frowned and focused back on the paper. “Well, I don’t think he hates me,” he grumbled.</p><p> </p><p>Sala exhaled, then opened her mouth. She seemed to think better of it, because she shook her head. Yuri assumed that was the end of it, but before he could thank God she spoke up anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“I heard he was going out with a guy back in middle school.” Yuri stopped underlining an entire paragraph. “He, um … He died in a car crash last year.” She paused. Yuri’s stomach could’ve flopped out his mouth and onto her stupid essay. “There’s a rumor that somehow it was Otabek’s fault.” </p><p> </p><p>Blood whooshed through his ears. He was dizzy, lightheaded. He didn’t want to know more. He wanted to scream at her to shut the hell up, to not go around spreading that kind of rumors or outing people as if she were talking about what kind of juice the boy liked better.</p><p> </p><p>But every muscle in Yuri’s throat was frozen. His fingers were stained blue, but Yuri could almost see red.</p><p> </p><p>The ink seeped into the paper and formed a dark pool as the world spiraled out of control. </p><p> </p><p>What if it was true? Would the quiet, soft-spoken Otabek ever do something like that? Was it the reason he retreated into his own mind so often? Was that the reason for the guy’s shocked smile when he saw them the other night? Had he been surprised Otabek wasn’t in jail?</p><p> </p><p>“Say, Yuri,” she looked up from the paper and met his eyes. Yuri's blood boiled in his veins, pumping adrenaline and preparing his fight or flight instincts. “Do you think it’s a good idea to get involved with him?”</p><p> </p><p>Yuri smacked the paper on the table and stood up, his chair whirring loudly and calling everyone’s attention towards him. When he turned, ready to leave the classroom, he almost crashed into the chicken nugget, who was standing with a paper in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Yuri! Look at what Emil wrote!” He cackled, shoving the paper on Yuri’s face. “It says— <em> di-hihi-cktator!" </em> He continued laughing, tears welling up in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, cut it! It was an honest mistake!” Emil cried out behind him, trying to snatch his essay back from Kenjirou, who ducked under his ridiculously long limbs and ran to show someone else.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Sala mumbled. Yuri turned to look at her, stunned into silence. Was she seriously apologizing <em> now? </em> If she was conscious enough about her bullshit why didn't she stop herself before? "Bella went to the same middle school as he and she mentioned Leo died in a car crash after a fight with him. But I shouldn't have repeated the rumors."</p><p> </p><p>Yuri choked on the air in his lungs. Their encounter with the short guy the other night flashed through his mind. </p><p> </p><p>Otabek running away.</p><p> </p><p><em> Is that Leo’s guitar? </em> </p><p> </p><p>He sat down on his chair, feeling like he'd fall over if he didn't.</p><p> </p><p>⏩</p><p> </p><p>[Ji, Guang Hong. Age 17.]</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, Bekabek!" the girl named Yuuko sing-sang. </p><p> </p><p>In 13 years of friendship, how had he never come up with that nickname? Guang Hong watched Otabek look up from the mess of wires he was straightening out before humming.</p><p> </p><p>"This guy came over, he said he knows you and has something to talk about with you." Her tone was sweet and friendly, but Guang Hong's band had played at the venue enough times to tell she was concerned. Whether because he had never brought Otabek along, or because Otabek hadn't given any indications of having any acquaintances or friends, he couldn't tell. </p><p> </p><p>There was a hidden message in her words; <em> If you want, I can call security. </em>It offended Guang Hong—Yuuko knew him well! But then again, maybe that was the reason she would be concerned. There had been that plastic fork incident two years prior ...</p><p> </p><p>Otabek finally looked at him, eyes comically wide.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey." Guang Hong nodded at him, then turned to the woman and gave her his most charming smile. "Is work too busy right now? Can I borrow him for a while?"</p><p> </p><p>"Nope! We actually made him untangle the wires because we didn't have anything else for him to do, haha." She rubbed the back of her neck, giving Otabek an apologetic smile. "You can clock out early, Beka, I'll take care of those."</p><p> </p><p>Guang Hong could tell Otabek wasn't happy with Yuuko giving in to his request. <em> Rude </em>, he thought. They were friends, after all! Or at least they had been, before everything turned upside down.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek gave him a cautious glance as he grabbed Leo's guitar case.</p><p> </p><p>"Come on, don't act like you're not happy to see me, you ungrateful prick." Guang Hong smiled, though it fell off his face when Otabek turned away without a word. When the boy took strides towards the exit, Guang Hong nearly had to run after him to catch up. He was <em> not </em> letting him get away again. He couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>They walked out the front in silence and sat down near the bike rack. Guang Hong took a sip from his thermos. He didn't know how to start talking. He didn’t even know <em> why </em> he had decided to see his friend after so long. </p><p> </p><p>After Otabek disappeared, he tried to contact him a few times—he had even gone to his apartment only to be turned away by Otabek’s mother. Last time that failed five months ago, Guang Hong stopped trying.</p><p> </p><p>The sweet taste of strawberry milk helped clear his brain a little.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek glanced at him from the corner of his eyes before nodding towards the bottle.</p><p> </p><p>"You still hide your kiddie drinks inside those?"</p><p> </p><p>Otabek's words made Guang Hong's cheeks tingle. He resisted the urge to pout by scowling instead. "Of course I do. What kind of high school boy drinks strawberry milk out in the open? I have an image to maintain, you know? I'm the bassist in a band, <em> I'm cool. </em>"</p><p> </p><p>Otabek tipped his head again. Guang Hong wasn't sure if he imagined it, but he suspected the tiniest of up-turns in the corner of Otabek’s mouth.</p><p> </p><p>"Last time we saw each other was at the funeral," he blurted, immediately regretting opening his mouth. "I'm not here to shame you, I just ..." He looked down and frowned. What? What did he want, exactly? "That's Leo's guitar, right?" He stared at the case out of the corner of his eye. It still had some of the pins Leo attached to it; A treble clef, <em> Made in Mexico, Ask me about arpeggios, Coping Admirably, Human </em>. </p><p> </p><p>The lion badge Otabek gave Leo for his birthday was missing.</p><p> </p><p>Otabek stayed silent for a moment, as if he didn't know whether or not he should admit the obvious. "His grandma told me to keep it," came as a murmur.</p><p> </p><p>He’d figured as much. Both Leo's grandma and Otabek's mother knew—and approved—of their relationship, so it came as no surprise. Still, he hummed. "So you play music now?" When Otabek didn't answer, Guang Hong turned to look at the moths fluttering under a streetlight. "You haven't seen Lupe since then, have you?" He didn't wait for a reply. "She misses you. She really saw us all as her grandchildren … When I told her you started playing she was very happy. It was worth seeing her smile." Something coiled in the mouth of Guang Hong's stomach, but he kept his voice level. </p><p> </p><p>Otabek's eyes were wide, but he said nothing. The bassist knew he shouldn't have gone around telling Otabek's ex-grandmother-in-law he was playing her dead grandson's guitar, especially not when even he didn't know for sure if that was the case. But she had caught him standing outside the family's house and he hadn't known what to say. He hadn't known what to talk about that wasn't <em> Leo.  </em></p><p> </p><p>It left Otabek as his only option.</p><p> </p><p>"I've been wondering …" he started, getting Otabek's attention before continuing, "whether you started to play guitar because you decided to move forward, or because you can't let go." Guang Hong didn't try to imagine Otabek's expression, but his silence spoke volumes. "I just thought it was strange." Guang Hong glanced down at the pink liquid inside his black bottle.</p><p> </p><p>"That really sounds like you're shaming me." Otabek mumbled.</p><p> </p><p>Guang Hong turned to Otabek, smirking. Maybe he was. "Well, which is it?" </p><p> </p><p>The latter smiled back, and it made Guang Hong's chest ache. Otabek stepped away from the rack and slung the strap of Leo's guitar case over his shoulder before grabbing his bicycle. "I don't know either," he admitted, climbing on the bike and riding off without another word.</p><p> </p><p>Guang Hong stayed there, staring off in the direction he had disappeared in, until someone stopped near him.</p><p> </p><p>"Sorry, I'm late." </p><p> </p><p>Guang Hong turned around and sighed, his shoulders sagging as the familiar sight of his friend greeted him. "Seung-Gil, you're <em> so slooow </em>," he whined. "I just met with Otabek, you missed it."</p><p> </p><p>"I s—what?" The boy’s thick eyebrows didn't move, but they didn't have to: Seung-Gil always looked like he had just heard bullshit. "Have you been keeping contact with him?" <em> Without telling me, </em> Guang Hong finished in his mind.</p><p> </p><p>"Nope. I just happened to run into him the other day. I figured he must work here.” He tilted his head towards the building. “So I dropped by today. I was right." Guang Hong gazed at the drummer for a long moment. His expression was as blank as always, but Guang Hong wouldn't be able to call himself a childhood friend if he weren't able to read concern written all over his face. To appease him, he let all of his nervous energy flow out with a laugh. "He's in a band now! Can you fucking believe it? Leo would be so—" He paused, his smile faltering as he felt the sting of tears in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Keeping eye contact before extending a hand in his direction was enough of an invitation for Guang Hong to slump against Seung-Gil’s chest. His friend's hand rested against his shoulder blade. It didn't move. Not to pat him, nor to rub circles on it, but Guang Hong's breathing slowly eased up. "There's no reason for you to worry about that."</p><p> </p><p>Guang Hong sniffled, then clicked his tongue. "Of course I worry." His voice was strained with the effort of holding back a sob. "He was our best friend and we haven't heard anything from him in how long?"</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, Seung-Gil was silent before he shifted a little. Guang Hong tilted his head up to meet a pair of steely eyes. "You dropped your milk."</p><p> </p><p>Guang Hong pushed away from him and looked at the floor. His thermos laid on a pool of pink. "Did it splash you? And it's <em> not </em> milk, I told you it's a protein shake!"</p><p> </p><p>Seung-Gil only smirked. "Sure."</p><p> </p><p>⏹</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oof speaking of emotional roller-coasters am I right? Now we know where the infamous guitar came from, but who's Leo? Are the rumors true? Is Otabek <em>gay?</em> Oh my, I guess we'll find out next time.</p><p>Thank you so much for reading. This chapter was a lot of fun to write (sooo much emotional tension) Please let me know which scene was your favorite. I'm partial to this last bit lmao I'm just biased bc I love writing Guang Hong :p I recently re-watched Given with my boyfriend and I was disappointed at this scene lmao </p><p>See you next year!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Prelude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“That sounds great!” Yuri grinned. “We just need the lyrics.”</p><p>“Why not let Otabek write them?” Viktor suggested.</p><p>“No.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you as always to Surka for helping me unlock The Good Writing from under all the awkward sentences. You're the best and ily. I went from being slightly frustrated with this chapter's length to feeling satisfied with everything and I can't thank you enough for that.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Otabek wasn’t lonely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even if they would never see each other again. Even if he still hadn’t found the words to say it. Even if he kept clinging to what once had been treasured.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Otabek wasn’t lonely, in fact he wasn’t alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But everything that had grown inside him wouldn’t suddenly disappear, no matter how he covered it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[Nikiforov, Viktor. Age 23.]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Working at a café wasn’t the most exciting job out there but it sure was busy. Other baristas probably had far worse stories to tell than Viktor did. A smile was usually enough to calm down the angriest of clients. Even when he’d push the complicated orders to the end and pretend he’d simply forgotten them. His perceived speed after being called out made clients happier than waiting from the beginning would.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The calm after rush hour was always insanely boring, though. Since his working station was never short of impeccable, he never had anything to do but stare out the window, unless he wanted to risk the cameras catching him using his phone during work time, or</span>
  <span>—G</span>
  <span>od forbid</span>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>leaving the register.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the bell chimed, Viktor straightened up, immediately slapping on his brightest customer service smile. “Welcome to</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>Ah, Yuuri!” Viktor’s polite grin switched to genuine as soon as he recognized his friend: photography camera hanging from his neck and bass case from his back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he yawned, rubbing his eyes under the thick glasses framing his eyes. “Same as always.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Viktor moved to prepare the syphon. “Coming right up. Are you going or returning from practice?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just classes.” Yuri sat down on a stool and slumped on the bar. “The band hasn’t practiced all week. Organizing the schedule of three working college students is not as easy as it sounds.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While the water heated, Viktor slid some pastries towards the man. “You look like a zombie, though. Has work really been that hard on you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” Yuri touched the dark skin under his eyes before shaking his head and fixing his glasses. “No, I volunteered to organize the next show at Ice Castle Melody,” he chuckled, then whined, pressing his face down on the wood. “I’m doing it all myself, though! I have to call the bands, prepare the venue, order the fliers …” He paused, staring as the water slowly filled up the top chamber of the machine. Viktor poured in the ground coffee and stirred it, waiting for Yuuri to continue. “Speaking of bands, how’s yours going?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! We have a new guitarist!” Viktor beamed. “And get ready: He’s in high school.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuuri snorted. “How many high school guitarists does a band truly need? Next thing I know you’ll be the next </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kidz Bop</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Once again distracted by the syphon, Yuuri watched as Viktor cut off the heat and the coffee slowly started pouring back into the bottom glass globe. “It looks like magic …” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it is.” Viktor winked. “I’m convinced you only order this because it looks cool, better tasting my ass.” He said while serving the drink into a mug and presenting it to his friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After blowing on the surface and taking a careful sip, Yuuri hummed. “It does taste better. One google search and you’ll know everyone agrees.” He looked up at Viktor and blinked. “So you’re replacing Yuri with another child prodigy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think Beka is a little far from being a prodigy,” Viktor chuckled. “but no, we’re not replacing Yura. He invited the guy into the band himself, I’m so proud.” He pressed a hand over his chest and sighed. “Yura is even teaching him guitar but</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>Well, I guess he is our vocalist, now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At those words, Yuuri straightened up. “You should play in the show!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Viktor looked at him, mouth still open and eyebrows raised high. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuuri clapped his hands together, pleading. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Please.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I could use some friends there. And a band that actually knows what they’re doing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a laugh, Viktor resisted a comment about how they had no idea what they were doing now that Yuri was busy fawning over their newest, most musically challenged band member. After all, a chance to play was a chance to play. “When is it? The show, I mean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Next month, you still have time to fine tune the newbie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So at Ice Castle Melody. Beka works there. Otabek, he’s the guy that just joined us.” Viktor smiled. “Yura has </span>
  <em>
    <span>such</span>
  </em>
  <span> a puppylove crush on him, it’s adorable.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yuri? A crush?” Yuuri gaped. “Good. Good for him, I mean. I would’ve never imagined him crushing on someone, but I guess he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a teenager as well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A high school guitarist.” Viktor reminded him with a smirk and a raised finger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taking a sip from his mug, Yuuri eyed Viktor up and down before speaking up. “On the topic of crushes: How are things with Chris?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A nervous laugh made its way up from the bottom of Viktor’s chest as he awkwardly glanced around, tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and leaned on the bar. “Chris?” he snickered. Yuuri only smirked in response. “I don’t know what he has to do with crushes. Does he have one?” Oh God, did Chris have a crush? Viktor turned to fully face his friend, burning cheeks and all. “Does he have a crush?” He asked again, serious, maybe hopeful this time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuuri shrugged, sipped his coffee, then sighed pointedly. “So no progress on your part.” When Viktor adjusted his low bun and the bobby pins holding part of his bangs slicked back, he hummed. “Your hair’s getting pretty long. It’s past your collarbones now, right? Are you planning on cutting it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Giving his friend’s words some consideration, Viktor twirled the end of a strand between his fingers. Chris always complimented his hair, saying it was the only thing that made him fit into the rock aesthetic they all had going on, but he also said it made him look like a pretty boy with how awfully soft and silky it was. Sometimes, without any warning or prompting, he’d reach to stroke it, startling the bassist and setting his blood on fire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no way he’d voice it, but Viktor liked it when Chris touched his hair. Part of him hoped it would be enough of a hook to have Chris touch </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back when they started college and Viktor’s band had fragmented into collapse, Chris had even more of a playboy reputation. Viktor had promised himself he would never fall for someone like that. He took pride in being highly logical and calculating. True to this, once he encountered Yuri's old band playing at the venue, he zeroed in on Yuri's talent. The boy clearly being a middle schooler didn't sway him at all, nor did the fact that his own band was going through a rough patch. Viktor needed an excuse to approach him and invite him into a functional band, one that was guaranteed to survive and make a name. To do that, though, first he needed a functional band.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Turns out that Chris carrying a snare into their musical theory class was enough of an excuse for Viktor to throw caution out the window and talk to him. Much to Viktor’s dismay, the pining for Chris’s ridiculously long eyelashes and skilled, slender fingers only solidified once the band gave them an excuse to hang out together week after week.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I’ll keep it long for now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think it suits you.” Yuuri finished his coffee and stood up. “Alright, then. See you at the event. Can’t wait to meet this Otabek guy,” He added, digging through his pockets before Viktor stretched across the counter to swat at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s on me! If I hadn’t given you coffee when you walked in, I’m sure you would’ve died,” Viktor chuckled, but was caught off guard when Yuuri grabbed both of his hands and brought them up to his lips, kissing two knuckles before looking into Viktor’s eyes as if his life had truly been at risk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re an angel,” he teased. Viktor’s cheeks tingled, but he held himself together. Shielding himself with his most charming smile, Viktor gave his friend a well rehearsed shrug. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps I am.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll text you the details, see ya!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watched as Yuuri left, waving at him from behind the bar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enduring work for another three hours before he was free to go play with the band had Viktor practically vibrating with emotion. To cope with the wait, he allowed himself to imagine their reactions once they knew about the gig. He ran more than walked through the streets all the way to the studio, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt when he greeted the lady behind the reception desk. Everyone was already waiting inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re late, grandpa,” Yuri sneered. Viktor’s wild smile softened as his chest warmed. To most, Yuri’s words would sound mocking, but knowing how much Yuri loved Nikolai, he always took it as a compliment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I had to close the shop.” He propped his case on one of the chairs and took out the instrument. “So what are we doing first?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuri looked at Otabek and squinted. “I was showing him how to play the riff of the song I composed but,” he paused, running a hand over his hair and exhaling harshly. “Play it again.” Otabek complied without arguing, and Viktor couldn’t help but cringe. Technically he was playing the right notes on the right tempo, but … “You didn’t tune it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blinking at the other, Otabek opened his mouth, then closed it with a frown. For a long moment, he did something that came very close to pouting considering Otabek’s limited range of expressions. “I did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuri rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it shows. When? Yesterday?” At Otabek’s nod, Yuri groaned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that won’t do,” Viktor intervened, trying to keep the boy from jumping at Otabek’s throat. “You have to tune it every time you play.” He smiled when the novice guitarist turned at him with wide eyes. Viktor knew that look well. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Every single time?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See? You never listen to me,” Yuri whined. “I told you: You have to loosen the strings after playing because otherwise they might snap </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the keys will shift inside the case anyways.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor bit back a chuckle. Feeling mocked was the last thing Yuri needed while throwing a tantrum. Instead, he took out his electronic tuner and handed it to Otabek. “Here, you can use mine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While Otabek worked on getting his guitar back in tune, closely supervised by a grumpy Yuri, Chris cleared his throat. “Speaking of the song, I listened to it last night and it sounds dope, so I took the liberty of adding the drums.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course you did, you old man. Who else was going to do it?” Yuri lifted his head to look at him with defiance, and Viktor couldn’t help the snicker that escaped him then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chris pursed his lips, unamused, before pulling out a piece of paper and unfolding it. “As I was saying, I would like to show you what I came up with.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Drummers use sheet music too?” Otabek looked up, clearly intrigued by this revelation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Chris sounded almost offended. “Come here, let me show you.” As the teen moved closer, so did Viktor. He was always fascinated by the strange reshaping of the staff symbology to accommodate for the specific needs of drumming. “See, we still use the standard arrangement, but the symbology is different.” He smirked at Otabek’s bemused noise as he looked at the notes. “From here to here it looks normal, right? Standard quarter notes, they actually tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>which</span>
  </em>
  <span> drum to play.” He waited until Otabek hummed. “But then we have this freak symbol that looks like a quarter note on the F, but has an </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘x’</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a head.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Otabek hesitated before asking. “What does it mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The ride cymbal. This one.” He pointed at one of the rightmost cymbals with the drumstick before hitting it twice. “It keeps the beat, unlike this one.” He hit a different, louder one, startling the entire band. “Heh, sorry. That’s the crash, it’s for accents.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Otabek gaped. “That’s so cool.” He glanced back at his guitar for a second before gently caressing the membrane of one of the drums. “Why is there tape on it? Do you also tune drums?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, not to a specific pitch or tone, but yes. The tape is to make it less loud, and reduce over notes. Ah, over notes are</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not ditching guitar for drums,” Yuri threatened, pointing at Otabek with his index and minding the fact that Chris’s mouth was still open with half of an explanation hanging out. “you heard the grandpa: you’d still have to tune them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All </span>
  </em>
  <span>of them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a snicker, Chris twirled his right drumstick. “May I show you my chops now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor stood back, not willing to go deaf just yet. He watched as Chris tapped his drumsticks twice, and Yuri played along on his guitar. Viktor was tapping his foot and bobbing his head by the time they finished, mentally planning the harmony in his head. Since Yuri had relied on the highest end of the scale, it was only logical to balance it by going the opposite direction. Adding a funky, crunchy bass line that would bridge the gap between drums and guitar, and was guaranteed to have the audience dancing without knowing why.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reached for his bass, playing part of what he knew of Yuri’s melody and adding his own pizzazz. It worked well enough once the other two played along, but maybe if he tuned the instrument down to a G♭ instead of an F♯ he’d be right on the money.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That sounds great!” Yuri grinned. “We just need the lyrics.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not let Otabek write them?” Viktor suggested.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone froze for a full beat. “Um …” Viktor started, but Yuri was already standing before Otabek with a frown.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you giving up so quickly?” Yuri nearly screamed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you’re asking too much from him.” Chris suggested.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! You can do it! I know you can!” Yuri spun around and pulled a thesaurus and a dictionary out of his backpack, handing them to Otabek with a determined expression. Somehow, the thought never occurred to Viktor that Yuri even </span>
  <em>
    <span>owned</span>
  </em>
  <span> a dictionary. Yuri was far more likely to scoff at his elaborate speech than to enhance his own vocabulary. Did he bring them just to be props for this display of temper? Impressive dramatics. Shame Yuri would likely only make it work for angry roles or he would be a magnificent actor. Oh well. “Stop being so indecisive and just put some thoughts into words.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Otabek stared at the books. “But I’m bad at that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A high pitched whine from the guitarist and the books fell to the floor. He grabbed Otabek’s shoulders and met his eyes with a frown. “I want to play your song. I want that song to have a name, and for you to be able to tell whether you like it or not. So do your best.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Otabek’s mouth tightened into a grimace. “What should I write?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anything!” Viktor suggested. Even to his own ears, it sounded unhelpful. “It’s your first song, so don’t try to be deep about it, just enjoy the process!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What process? That’s the worst advice you could give, Viktor,” Yuri jabbed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Viktor tilted his head. “Why?” Surely the </span>
  <em>
    <span>most</span>
  </em>
  <span> unhelpful was a bit of a stretch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuri picked up the thesaurus and threw it at Viktor, who barely caught it before it hit his chest. “You just said it’s his first song! Of course he doesn’t have a process, you grandpa!” Well, fair enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tapping the cover of the book, Viktor considered their options before looking at Otabek. “Then how about a love song? There’s nothing more versatile than a love song!” Yuri’s arm swung in the air and Viktor ducked down, narrowly avoiding the dictionary that thumped the wall where his head had been a second prior. He straightened up and smoothed his hair with a hand, indignant at the way adrenaline suddenly fired through his veins. “I know you like acting all edgy and stuff, Yuri, but I don’t think Otabek is the kind to write a song all about how love is a lie and it always sucks or something like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No one wants to play a stupid love song!” Viktor was about to disagree. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to play a stupid love song. Hell, he’d write it himself it if Otabek kept refusing, but as Yuri whined and pulled his hair, Viktor couldn’t help but notice how forlorn Otabek had gotten all of a sudden. Maybe he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> the type to write a song about heartbreak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s your muse?” Chris asked, much more helpfully. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My muse?” Otabek turned toward the drummer. “I don’t know if I have one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chris sighed. “Alright, let’s have a smoke break, Vitya.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat at having his name called in such an affectionate tone, Viktor shook his head. “Sorry,” he stammered. “I had a smoke during my lunch break. I really shouldn’t have anything more. I’ve smoked a lot this week.” He was rambling. Viktor knew he was, and there was no need to give explanations or excuses, but there was no stopping his mouth because he wanted Chris to understand that he definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have a moment with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright then, Yuri come with me to the store, I’ll buy you a snack or something.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine, but you didn’t set a price range,” The little demon pointed out as they walked out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once he was alone with Otabek, Viktor sighed. “So is love out of the question for you? You can still write a song about something else, like money or being angry at the government.” He smiled, trying to cheer the boy up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you have someone you like?” Otabek’s sudden question caused Viktor’s heart to betray him, and made his face hot with embarrassment. He shook his head, but it didn’t seem to matter, because the boy continued speaking. “If that person suddenly disappeared from this world, what would you say?” Viktor forced aside his panic at the idea of losing Chris and focused on the actual question. The sudden shift in tone almost made his teeth hurt. Those were heavy words coming from an 18 year old student. “Would you be sad? Lonely? How would you put it into words?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Viktor paused, unclenching his jaw and trying to put some thought into it. How would he feel if the person he loved were to disappear? He couldn’t come up with anything over the churning of his stomach and the metallic taste in the back of his tongue. “I guess I wouldn’t know what to say.” Otabek’s sad smile was like a curveball.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Neither do I.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>
    <span>.•。・❅・。•.</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[Plisetsky, Yuri. Age 17.]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they came back from the store, Yuri couldn’t help but notice how heavy the atmosphere was in the studio. Viktor was lost in his thoughts in a corner, and Otabek was </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> tuning his damn guitar. Playing the C chord over and over like a sad robot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you have that one down,” he grunted. “Try playing the chorus.” Otabek complied. Yuri had been merciful and gave him a simplified version of the melody to play. It still harmonized with the rest of the band and was easy on his amateur brain. “Not bad. You’re a little off beat, but Chris wasn’t playing so …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, Beka, are you writing the song? It’s alright if you don’t, we’re already an instrumental band.” Chris moved to sit behind the drums, completing Yuri’s thought without being asked to. “But I think this song in particular would really suit your voice. Yura arranged the melody with it on mind, after all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuri’s cheeks tingled when Otabek glanced at him. He shrugged. “I also accounted for it having no lyrics, so it will sound good either way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m writing it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three words were enough to make Yuri pause his plans to continue his earlier tantrum. What exactly had Viktor said that made Otabek change his mind so damn quickly? The unwavering determination in his eyes quickly becoming something that drew Yuri further in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Awesome! Yuuri dropped by at the café today and</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Yuri snapped, irritated at the sudden topic change. “I don’t even drink coffee.” Viktor gave him a tired look before continuing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yuri. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>nicer</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yuri. Yuuri Katsuki, from college.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, the one pulling a double major in photography and music.” Chris snapped his fingers, as if Yuri cared about their acquaintances.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And video production, music is his minor.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Overkill</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Yuri thought, but Viktor continued before he could sneer it aloud. “He invited us to play in the next show he’s coordinating. It’s at the Ice Castle Melody, Beka.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Otabek nodded. “Yuuko said she’d give me a discount if my band plays there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Amazing!” Viktor clapped once. “Yuuri’s gonna love that.” He pulled out his phone and started tapping the screen while he continued talking. “But either way, a song with lyrics would be a nice way to debut as a quartet, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chris was the next one to speak. “When is the show?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Next month.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you think a month is enough time to write a song?” Yuri jumped in before they could get too excited. “Let me rephrase that: And you think </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> will have the lyrics finished in a month?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>♪</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next few days went by in a restless flurry. Yuri couldn’t tell why, but every time he saw Otabek, he wanted to tell him to forget about the song. Sala’s words were still fresh in his mind, and as much as he had tried to forget about them, Yuri had been careful to avoid being alone with Otabek. Not because he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>afraid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Yuri’s emotions were muddled, mixed. Too much and too confusing to untangle with bare fingers. He wasn’t sure what exactly his feelings were, but fear didn't figure in, and perhaps that only made it more confusing. Should he be scared? It was just a rumor, so the logical part left in his brain said no. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about Otabek and an ex-boyfriend? A </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> ex-boyfriend. A relationship that had been finalized without Otabek having any say on it? Why couldn’t he stop wondering how Otabek felt about it all? Replaying all of their interactions for a hint, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And how could Otabek be to blame about it? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was mind numbling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he had tried to make it inconspicuous. Playing basketball with Emil and The Nugget during break; making excuses about needing to buy the ingredients for dinner after practice to escape walking Otabek to the metro station; going out for a ‘walk’ during Viktor and Chris’s smoke breaks, saying he needed to stretch his legs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today though, Yuri mindlessly wandered over to the stairs behind the gym. He was too tired to play, having stayed up all night tossing and turning as he tried to think about what lyrics Otabek could possibly write.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he saw Otabek nodding off with his head gently pressed to the wall, Yuri seriously considered turning around and running off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he had a chance to act on that plan, though, Otabek opened his eyes. “Yuri,” he yawned. His dark eyes followed the other as he moved up the stairs and sat down in the sunshine. “Are you here to nap?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a nod, Yuri laid down with his back to Otabek. The air around them felt heavy, filled with a silent expectation that made Yuri’s skin crawl. An explanation for his weird behavior, perhaps an apology. It was weird being the silent one, but apparently Otabek wasn’t done questioning him. “Yuri, can I talk to you? If you’re already asleep you don’t have to answer, but there’s something that’s been on my mind lately.” How someone would be able to fall asleep so quickly escaped Yuri, but since he was given the choice, he didn’t answer. “About the lyrics: I’ve decided to give it a try. You see</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>” Yuri wanted to scream. This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid all along. “</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>there was someone I was in love with before. This person … Was beside me my entire life. Not anymore, though. There’s a lot I want to say, so much … about</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>about everything. But everything is too much.” A strange force had Yuri’s muscles pinned to the ground, even as his stomach twisted and his eyes itched. “Right now … I guess there’s no way I can find to express my feelings, but I still want to convey them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Otabek’s voice was strangely calm during this one sided conversation, but beneath the thin surface of composure, Yuri could almost see that pain glaring between the lines. It shone brighter with his next sentence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess you really did fall asleep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hummed the song. The stupid song Yuri had helped materialize into a melody. Yuri listened while he stared at a spot on the wall. Finally he could put a name to the feeling that had made a home in the deepest pits of his stomach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was jealousy.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*taps mic* Viktor/Chris.</p><p>Oh and get ready. Next chapter is ... Special, for those who were waiting for some of Otabek and Leo's background. Buy tissues. Or a stress ball. You have a couple days.</p><p>I love you all and please let me know what you think.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Notes on this AU:<br/>&gt; This is based off the manga for Given, which is amazing and I 10000% recommend if you like crying over fictional characters.<br/>&gt; Viktor has long hair.<br/>&gt; I fucked with everyone's ages so they'd fit the narrative. Sorry?<br/>&gt; SPOILER: Leo's death is NOT the same as Yuki's. It's still gonna hurt, he's still dead, but it's not the same, as you can tell from the starting nightmare.</p><p> </p><p>ALL THE LOVE TO THE SUPERFAN SERVER, YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST OF THE BEST AND HAVE MADE THIS HELLISH YEAR SO MUCH MORE PALATABLE FOR ME. THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING. I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU. GO DRINK SOME WATER.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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